Special Training
by ChristineFury
Summary: Collection of vignettes involving Ellen Shepard during her Spectre training with her mentor, Saren Arterius. AU/smut. Rated M for a reason.


**Warning**: Sado-masochism, Sub/Dom, Pseudo-Non-Sexual-Assault, cursing

**Disclaimer**: There is no set rules/set in stone writing about Turian physiology, so if it's not what your head canon is, Too fuckin' bad.

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><p>Ellen held up her gun, appraising the job she'd done on cleaning it. The submachine gun- affectionately nick named "Lionel"- gleamed under the lights of her study, and she set it down on the table, smiling in satisfaction. Her shoulders ached in protest as she leaned back, and she winced only slightly. Her training had consisted of sparring, hand to hand combat in light armor, nothing held back- not even biotics, and she was the only one using the abilities. The biotics hadn't helped that much, not against a veteran like Saren- who was rumored to be a biotic, but he didn't use any in their match.<p>

She grumbled to herself as she ran fingers through her mahogany hair, thinking about the match. Despite using her abilities as a vanguard, and both of them wearing light armor- mainly to protect her from his talons- he'd had a huge advantage over her with his natural speed and reach as a turian. She'd only been able to hold him off as long as she had because of her biotics, but they weren't enough to gain an advantage. He'd ended up toppling her to the mat, pinning her to the ground and sliding his taloned hand around her throat with a toothy grin. She'd hated him for that fucking grin. That fucking cocky bastard. She'd almost kneed him in the crotch out of instinct, but the question of 'Did that even work with Turians?' made her hesitate long enough for him to release her and get up with a smirk- which left her fuming.

Ellen knew she should be grateful for the chance the Council had given her, picking her as a candidate for being a Spectre. She should be grateful that humanity was given a chance. She couldn't feel grateful on the behalf of humanity, though. She was grateful to Nihlus for putting her name forward, but she didn't want to be a Spectre to prove humanity could have a place in the Council. She wanted to be a Spectre to cut loose from the Alliance, to have free reign to do good for the galaxy without the restrictions of human policies and politics. She didn't want to answer to Udina anymore.

Setting her gun aside, she got up, her lower back muscles practically creaking in protest as she moved to her fridge, pulling out some chilled bourbon. She made her way back to the couch and sprawled on it in a most unladylike fashion, opening the bottle and taking a quaff straight from it. She winced in pleasure as the liquor burned her throat, a welcome distraction from the throbbing ache in her muscles. As she picked her gun back up to put the magazine back in, her green eyes flicked to her uniform that was thrown over the loveseat, and she knew it would wrinkle if she didn't hang it up, but for now, she was going to ignore it. She was enjoying the fact that she had twenty-four hours of liberty, and she was going to spend at least ten of those hours as she was now- in a tank top and her skivvies, and nothing else but a bottle of bourbon and Lionel laid across her thighs. She closed her eyes as she drank more, her thoughts returning to the Council and the opportunity she'd been given. Liquor tended to make her relax, but it also made her far more cynical and made her focus on unpleasant issues.

She wanted to be a regular soldier and get stupid and happy while drunk, but she couldn't. Alcohol only agitated her worry, her mind still roiling about it all- the main thing she couldn't get her mind off of was how she was going to deter Udina from using her as leverage, should she become a Spectre. The other thing was the matter of her mentor. Why Saren? Why not Nihlus? Why would Nihlus put her name forward, then not offer to train her? Why would Saren be her mentor? He hated humans. She huffed, a few droplets of bourbon spewing from her lips. Maybe Anderson was right- maybe the Council didn't want humanity to have a place amongst the Council races, and Saren was the best way to ensure that it didn't happen.

'Like it matters. Humanity isn't ready to be in the Council,' she thought, her mind moving full circle. 'We can't be compassionate like the Asari. We can't be altruistic like the Turians, and we aren't as brilliant as the Salarians, and even if we were, we wouldn't share it with the other races. We're a race that enslaved and fought each other over things as stupid as religion, and denied each other basic sentient rights like freedom of speech and sexuality. Humanity is a group of toddlers amongst adults, and Udina is the one kicking his feet and pounding his fists the loudest, which is why he's the sodding Ambassador.'

"Can't even get drunk properly," she snorted to herself in between swigs. "Some soldier I am."

"Keeping your head while drunk is hardly something to complain about. I should be the one complaining about your coherency."

At the sound of the voice behind her, Ellen leapt to her feet, dropping the bottle as she snatched up her gun, rolling so that she pressed her back against the wall. As soon as her back pressed against the smooth stucco of the wall, the lights went out. She let out a colorful stream of expletives, releasing the safety on her gun slowly to avoid the tell-tale click.

She went completely still, and ignoring the frantic beating of her heart, she willed herself to take a slow, almost inaudible breath through her nose, then forced it slowly back through her nose, keeping it as quiet as she could. She felt vulnerable, dressed as she was, but lacking boots would help her move more quietly. Even if the intruder managed to get close enough to make using Lionel a danger, she wasn't unarmed- like any good female soldier, she still had a small switchblade stowed in her bra. She was a Vanguard, too, and if her intruder was stupid enough to get close...he'd go flying out the window from a well aimed Charge. She was still perfecting it, but she had the basics of Shock Wave learned. She was far from helpless. She just didn't have the upper hand. Yet.

She started strafing slowly, making as little noise as possible, trying to deduct what sort of foe she was dealing with. She knew she was dealing with a male, that much was certain. The voice wasn't deep enough to be a Krogan- she wasn't stupid enough to think a Krogan couldn't sneak into her apartment. Even a Krogan could sneak when they needed to. She couldn't rule out a Quarian or a Salarian- both had the knowledge and capabilities of hacking through her locks. Wasn't a Volus- she would have heard the breather of his exo-suit coming down the hall. The masculine voice automatically ruled out an Asari. She hadn't heard enough of the voice to discern a flanging effect to confirm he was Turian, but something told her that this wasn't a human- the timbre was wrong. The enunciation was too precise.

As she weighed the options, her ears were straining for any sound from the intruder. She heard the softest sound, a footfall on the carpet, but her ears weren't good enough to tell which direction it came from, nor which direction it was advancing. The wall suddenly ended, and she felt open air against her left shoulder. She'd reached the beginning of the hall to her room. She paused with a painful hesitation. She didn't know which way the unknown male had gone. Was she a sitting duck where she was, or would slipping into the hall only lead her right into his grasp? Fight or flight was raging in her veins, adrenaline flushing through her. Never had she so strongly battled against her instincts before- except back on Akuze.

That made up her mind for her. Just like on Akuze, she wasn't going to wait for this "thresher maw" to pop up where it could get her. She had to keep moving-never mind her omni-tool was in her bedroom. If she did get overwhelmed, she could slam her alert before getting too badly hurt. She slid around the corner of the hall and slowly started making her way to her bedroom. A sudden change in the air current made her stop dead in her tracks.

She could feel the disturbance in the air- a subtle emanation of heat close by, barely covered by armor. She was no infiltrator, but as a biotic whose abilities were almost humming under her skin, flaring with her nerves, she was sensitive to shifts in the air. He was a few feet away. That settled it. She was dealing with a Turian- only a Turian could track her this quietly, using a superior sense of smell and the ability to see in the dark. She stared in the direction of the male, a defiant look on her face. She couldn't see her own hands in front of her face, but she knew he could at least see her outline, and he could definitely smell her.

A grin spread across her lips. He was dumb enough to get close to a Vanguard- too close to safely use her gun, but far enough for a charge to HURT. She set Lionel down carefully, and drew her switchblade from her bra, popping the blade out. Her arms began glowing a soft periwinkle, her nerves flaring with a familiar ache that wasn't entirely unpleasant. The glow lit up the hallway- which was empty.

She blinked, and the biotics slowly faded from her arms as her confusion rose in time with panic in her chest. She got to her feet out of her crouch, only to be knocked to her knees, slammed against the wall. A taloned hand gripped her wrist, two fingers and a thumb. A Turian. She struggled against his hold, but he pressed his body against hers, knocking the breath from her lungs as she was slammed against the wall, his other arm putting her in a choke hold. A growl escaped her throat, and she immediately tucked her chin in to keep his arm from closing off her windpipe. She didn't even think about kicking up and back into his groin- there was no telling if it'd work. Instead, she flared her biotics in her free arm, and sent her elbow flying back into his waist.

The result was instantaneous. Her assailant grunted in pain, and the hold released as he drew back. Her knife wielding hand freed, she spun around, biotics still flared to light up the hallway- and his face. Blue cybernetic eyes glinted at her, and the metal plates on his mandibles shone in the dim light of her biotics. Ellen lowered her knife, but still aimed a punch at the Turian's stomach with an angry snarl.

"You. Sodding. ASS!" She shrieked, punching him. She was so angry, she wasn't hitting him very hard. Still, Saren stood there and took it, an amused look on his face.

"You did well enough for having consumed half a bottle of bourbon, Shepard," he purred, taking her hand before she could punch him again. Ellen growled at him.

"What the fuck is your problem, breaking into my apartment, Arterius!" She hissed. "And assaulting me at that!"

Saren fixed her with a stare, all amusement fading from his face.

"You're training to be a Spectre," he said quietly, pushing his face closer to hers, making her back up against the wall again. His breath, which was hot and smelled of an odd spice she couldn't identify, feathered across her cheek. "I have to train you to be vigilant, even at home. Spectres aren't protected by the military. We are the right hand of the Council, and while we have our resources, we work alone. We have many enemies who would like to see us fail in our endeavours to carry out the Council's will. We cannot afford to let down our guard. I am teaching you this, that even in the Citadel, you are not entirely safe."

Ellen huffed in resigned acceptance, avoiding his cold gaze, then pushed past him to the hallway's light switch. She flinched as light flooded the hall, painfully bright after being shrouded in darkness. Saren didn't even blink, but his eyes were appraising her in a way that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Turians were so hard to read, and Saren was even harder than that, his plated mandibles and cybernetic eyes lacking the expression that his ilk had. She suddenly felt horribly under-dressed, almost naked with nothing on her legs- and that was exactly what Saren was looking at, that and her bare shoulders. She scowled and shifted her weight to one leg, cocking her hip and folding her arms over her chest.

"Anything else?" She asked coolly. "Or can I get back to my evening?"

"Yes," Saren sneered, "because spending an evening alone in a half lit apartment drinking and worrying is a much better way to spend liberty."

"Shut your flappin' mandibles, Arterius," she snapped. "How I spend my time off is my own damn business."

"Not if it makes you unable to tend to your training. Or are you that eager to fail your evaluation period?" Saren countered, edging closer, his mandibles flaring slightly.

"That determined to fail me, Arterius?" Ellen retorted, still backing towards her room- she'd never wanted a pair of pants so badly in her life, even if the male encroaching on her was the least likely to find her interesting. This was Saren Arterius, after all. Still, she didn't like him seeing her without her armor, let alone without pants. He kept coming closer, striding like he was the tenant and she was the intruder.

"No. You might make a decent Spectre, Shepard. However, I don't want you to become one," he said smoothly, still advancing.

"Is that right? Then why are you training me?" She asked, hoping to distract him from following her into her room.

"Because the Council asked it of me," he replied, "and I do what they ask of me. I don't want you to be a Spectre, because then your pathetic Ambassador will use you as a step to becoming a Councilor, and I cannot allow that to happen."

Ellen had reached the door of her bedroom, her back hitting the closed door. She opened her mouth to reply to his comment as she fumbled with the switch to open it, and nearly fell backwards into the room. To her horror and enraged frustration, he strolled right in after her. She hissed at him between clenched teeth, her reply forgotten.

"Do you not have a sense of privacy, Arterius? Do you mind not invading my bedroom?" She barked at him, yanking open a drawer with such force it flew off track and fell onto the floor, her clothing falling out in a heap. Saren snickered, his mandibles clicking softly, and to her outrage, he strode across the room and sat on the edge of her bed, watching her scoop her clothes up. She stared at him, her anger beyond the point of words as she mouthed soundlessly at him. He flared his mandibles at her in an obvious and infuriating turian smile.

"It's not the first time I've been in here, Shepard. I know every inch of your apartment," he practically crooned, his grin becoming more obvious as her face reddened.

"You WHAT?" She shrieked, flinging the clothes in her arms at him. "So you've been watching me? Stalking me? What else have you been doing, Arterius? Dragging Nihlus in here, enjoying a few laughs as you spy on the stupid, undeserving human? Is your life that sad and boring that you have to spend your free time stalking me like some hopeless drunkard at Chora's? Maybe you should get the hell out and head that way. At least there you might get laid, and damn it, I think you need it, as you have nothing else BETTER to do!"

Saren nonchalantly peeled the offending clothing off his shoulders and arms, dropping each article that she'd thrown at him on the floor. His mandibles flattened against his face, then flared again as she continued throwing clothing at him while she shrieked. She was almost as bad a female turian in season during a sparring match. Her body temperature was high with her anger, and her scent reached his nose. She didn't smell bad for a human; she actually smelled very good. She smelled of a soft warm musk made hot-and appealing, he was loathe to admit- with anger, bourbon, and a sharp scent that reminded him of ozone, or a distant storm- her biotics.

He glanced at her and saw her fingers were tinged with the tell-tale periwinkle glow. He wondered briefly if he should move, should she decide to charge him, but after evaluating where he was sitting compared to the angle from which she would come at him, he decided to stay put. Should she charge him, it would be awkward for her. Incredibly so. Still...the remark she made about him needing the company of a female made his mandibles flatten against his face again. A human who spent her down time alone drinking was making comments about his sex life? He wouldn't admit it- to her, especially- but it had been a while. He refused to lay with an Asari, laying with a human was laughable, and turian women were few and far between in the Citadel. He shouldn't let her comments get to him, but that struck an odd nerve with him. He gritted his teeth, eyes trained on her, waiting to see what she'd do.

Ellen had run out of clothing to toss at him that wasn't embarrassing to throw. She huffed, still glaring at him as she knelt to pick up a pair of jeans, stepping into them and pulling them up, refusing to turn her back to him. She groaned to herself. Of course the one pair of pants she hadn't thrown at the obnoxious Spectre on her bed was the pair that was too big- a pair she'd worn before she'd lost significant weight after a complex surgery to fix broken vertebrae after the events on Akuze. The pants just barely hung on her hips, exposing the top of her pelvic curve. She growled and pulled at them, trying to get them to sit higher- and hoping Saren wasn't interested in her exposed hips.

Saren was interested. His eyes flicked to her waist and hips, which looked more appealing when she was trying to conceal them. Something about the taut strip of skin between the waist of her pants and the hem of her shirt was teasing, horribly so. Humans were a pain in his ass, and he hated them, but the ways of their females confused him. They exposed their flesh brazenly, much like Asari around males, and it wasn't appealing. It left nothing to the imagination. The way Shepard was dressed right now, with her shoulders bare, a strip of her hips and waist showing left all sorts of thoughts in his mind, but that wasn't considered sexually attractive amongst humans. Open depravity was better than coy seduction. He didn't understand it, but what else was to be expected of a species that had such a horribly weak sense of smell?

Ellen huffed at him and waved her hand at the door, an obvious gesture for him to get out. He tilted his head, looking at her with unblinking eyes, refusing to move. Ellen let her hand drop and she folded her arms over her chest, digging in her heels. She knew a stubborn stare when she saw one, human, Turian, or otherwise. If he wasn't going to move, neither was she. This was her home, and surely he had someplace to be, and would eventually leave. He flared his mandibles, the metal plating glinting in the light of her bedroom- he obviously had no intention of leaving til he was damn ready, and his body language spoke volumes of his stubbornness.

"What do you want, Saren?" She snarled, unfolding her arms to snag at the sagging waist of her pants. A grin was her reply as he stared at her a bit longer.

"You're quite amusing when you're angry, Shepard," he said, his voice colored with a purring amusement.

Ellen scowled at him, abandoning her futile attempt to get her pants to stay up, letting them drop again. She ignored how his eyes flicked to her hips again, and pushed back a feeling of unease- she was pretty sure that was unease. It was SOME sort of tension. He shifted, and she straightened a bit, hoping he was getting up to leave. No, he was _leaning back_ onto her bead. He still had his teeth gritted, slightly bared, and just like every time a turian flashed their teeth at her, Ellen found herself wondering just how sharp they were. She looked away from his mouth, fuming, ignoring how she heard his plates shifting under his armor as he moved- something she found odd, as she hadn't heard that when they had that silent stand off in the hall. Could he really control even the sounds his plates made when he moved? No wonder he took her down so quickly.

"I'm so glad you find my frustration at your refusal to remove yourself from my home amusing, Saren," she growled, stomping over and scooping the clothing that he'd dropped on the floor after she'd thrown it at him. He snickered, a rumbling sound in his throat, but he didn't move, watching as she scooped up her clothing. Ellen flushed brightly as a pair of her skivvies dropped to the floor, and she snatched for them. Saren, noticing the look on her face, grabbed them first, beating her to them because of his longer arms. Ellen froze, unsure how to process what she was seeing. Saren Arterius, legendary Spectre, hater of humankind, was holding one of her thongs, looking between her and it with a quizzical look.

"Saren, you really don't want to be caught holding those," she said, trying to keep her tone light.

"And why not?" He asked, mandibles twitching.

Ellen fixed him with a look after dumping her clothes back into the drawer. He wanted to know why not? He wanted to be an ass and hold her panties while refusing to get off her bed? He asked for it. Her mouth twitched slightly in a smirk, and she waved her hand at the top of the panties she was wearing, exposed by her loose pants. His eyes moved to the line of black cloth snug against her hips and lower belly, then back to the cloth in his hands. Ellen folded her arms, shifting her weight to one leg as she smirked, watching the wheels in his mind turn, realization dawning in his eyes. He realized he was holding a garment that covered her genitals, and she had to give him credit when he didn't recoil or fling them away. He simply tossed them back at her. She caught them in one hand, tossing them over her shoulder into the drawer.

"You going to leave now?" She asked.

To her relief, he got up. To her dismay, he came towards her, his head tilted, curiosity in his eyes. She almost backed up, but held her ground. She wasn't going to be dominated on her own turf. Not by him. She squared her shoulders, looking him dead in the eye. His mandibles flared again, and he chuckled, a low menacing sound coming from him. Despite every effort not to, she shuddered, and he laughed again. His mouth opened to speak, and she mentally braced herself to be berated again.

"You were about to say something when I said I didn't want humans on the Council, and judging from the look on your face, you weren't going to protest my words," he said quietly, moving closer, looming over her. Ellen finally balked and backed up- he was too close. To her dismay, he kept advancing.

"I wasn't, because I agree with you," she said, hoping her agreement would make him stop.

It did. He paused, eyes brightening in surprise, head tilting as he considered her. His mandibles flared, flattened, then flared again. He was obviously weighing her words, wondering what she was after, what she was up to. She took the opportunity to move to the bed, plopping on it and glaring at him defiantly, daring him to get back on it. She hid her relief as he didn't come back to sit on the bed, only turning to keep his eyes on her.

"You agree with me? Why?" He demanded.

Ellen folded her legs under her, and Saren's eyes flicked to her hips again- pulling her legs under her had pulled the waist of her pants down further, and the well defined curve of her pelvis was clearly visible. He was torn between interest and a sudden flare of anger at the interest he was feeling. Shoving it aside, he stalked closer to the bed, leaning forward to rest his hands on the charcoal grey coverlet so that he was eye level with her. Her clear green eyes stared him down.

"Because humanity isn't ready to have a member in the Council," she retorted hotly. "For fuck's SAKE, we enslaved EACH OTHER, fought over things like sexuality, race, religion, and we even had our governments threatening to silence the public by ridding us of our basic rights of the freedom of speech. We're not altruistic, dedicated to the greater good like Turians. We're cold and selfish, not compassionate and empathic like Asari. We're still children as far as science- we only made it off our planet because of our discovery of the the Prothean technology on Mars, so we're idiots compared to Salarians. We can't even take care of our own world, our own people, let alone the other Council races! We have nothing to offer to the Council. Not yet, until we grow the hell up and stop acting like children throwing a fit!"

She stopped, leaning back, catching her breath, chest heaving a bit from the passion in her rant against her own race. Saren was staring at her, and she had the feeling he was reading into her rant, that he was hearing what she didn't voice. Her own hatred of what humans could do, because she'd experienced it firsthand. The words she refused to say out loud. His mandibles clicked once, then relaxed as he tilted his head. She fell silent, waiting for his reply, for his accusations that she was lying.

Saren saw her silent defiant command- _I dare you to call me a liar_- in her eyes. He believed her; there was no faking that sort of vehemence or heat in one's tone. He just had no idea that the candidate he'd been given as a pupil was anti-human, despite being one herself. He would have thought that Anderson would pick a more militant human supporter. An ideal Alliance soldier. This female obviously was not that ideal soldier. He stared at her a moment longer, then pushed back from the bed and strode out of the room.

Ellen blinked. Had that been enough to get him to leave? Was he satisfied with what she'd said, or was he going to go report her to the Council? She felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. If he told the Council she was against the advancement of her own race, they'd tell Anderson, and not only would she lose her spot as a potential Spectre- her ticket out of the Alliance- but when she reported back to duty, she'd be going to Captain's Mast.

"Shit, shit, FUCK!" She swore, punching her pillow before falling backwards onto the bed, rubbing at her forehead. "I am never drinking again!"

"Makes my trip into the kitchen pointless, doesn't it?"

Ellen propped herself up on an elbow hurriedly at hearing Saren's voice. He was in the doorway, holding a bottle in each hand: her bourbon and a bottle of green liquid- liquor she kept around in case any of her turian buddies from C-Sec came over. He tilted the bottle, looking at it with appreciation as he sauntered back over to the bed and sat down.

"This is good stuff, Shepard. Have Turians over often?" He asked lightly as he handed her the bottle of bourbon. His question was meant to be neutral, but she took it the wrong way obviously, as she stiffened and glared at him.

"Not in the way you're thinking, Arterius," she snapped, taking a long swig of the booze. "Chellick and a few of the guys come over and we relax on liberty."

Saren refrained from sighing. Human women were so easily offended. It didn't help she wasn't good at reading Turian body language. He thought he was being as unassuming as he could, but she still thought he was being offensive. Another reason he disliked humans so much- they were so quick to get offended. He uncorked the bottle and took a swig, aware that he hadn't asked, but he was far beyond caring at this point. Ellen didn't seem to mind- she was still bristling over his comment. He lowered the bottle and eyed her.

"While I didn't mean that comment in the way you were thinking, is it that offensive to suggest you'd seek company outside your own species, Shepard?" He snorted before taking another drink. Ellen scowled and took another long quaff of her liquor.

"It's not offensive. I just..." She paused, running fingers through her hair, and Saren briefly wondered what it felt like- humans were such an oddity in the galaxy with their heads of hair. He pushed the thought from his mind as she sighed.

"Sorry. I get stabs made at my personal life often. I get a bit prickly about it," she said after struggling for words. She then flushed. "I...I'm sorry for making a stab at yours. Kind of a hypocritical move there."

Saren paused, then lowered the bottle. That was unexpected. A human, admitting she'd been a hypocrite, and apologizing for it. Would the wonders never cease this evening?

"Thank you for the apology, but it's unnecessary. I deserved it. An eye for an eye, I suppose," he quipped, taking a long quaff. The liquor burned his throat pleasantly, and almost made his eyes cross- it was strong, and he realized this was the worst way to drink it, and he should probably stop, but with Shepard chugging her bourbon next to him, he wasn't going to stop. Not until she did first.

Ellen was starting to feel more relaxed, even with Saren sitting on the bed next to her. The bourbon was strong and her veins were thrumming with a pleasant warmth. She briefly worried if he'd slipped something into it, like Hallex, but she shrugged it off. Saren, taking advantage of a human? The idea was laughable. Now her taking advantage of him? That thought was a bit more plausible. Her mind was slowly relaxing, and she was allowing herself to let her thoughts- and eyes- wander as Saren spoke.

She would be the first to admit she found Turians attractive. She had never felt attraction to males of her own species, not after her rough life on Earth, and the incidents she suffered at the hands of men. She wasn't sure what drove her to find Turians sexually appealing. Xenophilia, maybe? She wasn't sure, but she appreciated the oddities that made them unique, and those unique traits were what drew her in- the mandibles, their voices with the oddly soothing flanging effect, their sharp hooded eyes, and their sharp teeth. Saren was different from the other Turians- he didn't wear face paint with any clan markings, his mandibles were plated, and his zygomatic plates arced out oddly, almost looking like horns on the sides of his face. The black hood he always wore that covered his fringe also lent to his rather malevolent appearance. She shook herself out of her observance when he cleared his throat, noticing her stare.

"This is... well. I never expected to share a drink with a human. My pupil, at that," he said, his voice lilting with the alcohol, and Ellen bit back a giggle. He was getting drunk! She tilted back her bottle and drained the rest of her bourbon, then sprawled on her back, bottle falling from her hand onto the floor with a dull thud. The sound sent her into a fit of laughter, and Saren tilted his head, watching her curiously.

Her shirt had lifted up, exposing her stomach, and he saw it was latticed with faint scars of varying lengths, types and depth. Some looked like claw marks, some like burns, another like the result of surgery or a deep incision. The woman wasn't just some kiss-ass the Alliance had pulled out of a hat. She had experience- and judging from the fact that some of her scars looked older than the length of her military career, she had experience outside the military. Despite the scars, her skin looked soft, her taut stomach supple.

"Fuck. The one time I get drunk enough to actually find stupid things funny and it's with the biggest stick in the mud in the Citadel aside from Udina," she drawled, attempting to sit up, but failing, falling back onto the bed. Saren eyed the bottle that had rolled across the carpet. It hadn't been that full when he'd brought it into the room, since she'd dropped it when he'd made his faux assault on her, but it was a good sized bottle- she had to have consumed at least five shots worth of straight bourbon, and she'd had some before that.

He himself was feeling like a fuzzy layer of cloth had wrapped around his mind, but his thoughts were still whirling a million miles a minute. She was occupied, staring at the ceiling, allowing him to look her over again, and wonder how the hell she survived a Thresher Maw attack. She was soft and frail looking just like every human female, with delicate pale skin, no claws, no plating, flat teeth and less than stellar senses. True, she was a biotic, and a Vanguard at that, but how did that save her against a Thresher Maw? His inebriated mind couldn't keep up the train of thought, moving too randomly and rapidly, and the next thought in his head was how soft she looked. He'd never touched a human's bare skin without gloves, and certainly not the softer places, like their stomach or back. He had almost a compulsive urge to stroke her stomach, to see just how soft she was.

Ellen finally gave up on trying to sit up, and settled for rolling over onto her side. She was of the mind to tell Saren they should call it a night, that he should go home and let her sleep off the bourbon. As she rolled over, her side came in contact with his hand. She froze, her sluggish mind trying to comprehend what was going on. Her eyes locked with his, and they both were still, his taloned hand resting on the side of her waist, just above the shelf of her hip. Ellen swallowed hard. His hand was warm, his palm slightly rough, and his talons were sharp, but weren't cutting into her skin, just gently pressing with enough pressure to let her feel how dangerous they were. She took in a careful breath.

"Saren?"

He said nothing, his mandibles flaring. Her pulse was hot under his fingers, and her skin was far softer than he'd expected. Her scent was slowly changing in his nose, growing warmer, her musk intensifying. His touch was affecting her- and her scent was affecting him. His plates shifted under his armor, and he blearily hoped with a sense of vague concern she didn't notice.

Ellen wasn't sure what was going on, but the flare of his mandibles was telling her that the alcohol was having effects that she certainly didn't foresee happening. Her heart raced a bit- his hand on her waist was terrifying and thrilling all at once. She took in another deep steadying breath, and she caught the hint of something- not the scent of alcohol, but something else. Something feral and alien, but utterly arousing, and her stomach tightened, flames roaring to life in her loins.

Saren had to bite back a hiss as he smelled her arousal. He'd had the experience of passing by the human strippers in Chora's and other seedy places in his lifetime, but that was their job. He'd never smelled genuine arousal on them. This... this was genuine, and spirits, he wasn't sure if it was arousing or terrifying. Her scent had gone from alien yet feminine, to feral and ravenous in less than three heartbeats- from the touch of his hand on her skin. His mind spiralled away from why he shouldn't do this, headed in the dangerous direction of why he wanted to do this, and he skimmed his hand up over her waist and under her shirt to caress her ribcage, feeling the smooth curves of each bone under her skin.

Ellen shuddered, a small sound escaping her lips as his rough hand moved over her sensitive sides- ever since her surgery, her torso had become incredibly perceptive to touch, and this was the first time she'd had anyone else touch her in this manner. Without thinking- or maybe the alcohol was thinking for her- she arched her spine, curving into his hand, moving closer to him as she did so, almost demanding more attention like a cat. Saren's hand paused on her ribs as he hesitated, mandibles clicking slightly. Ellen made a sound of frustration, and reached out to stroke his zygomatic plate.

Saren growled and pulled her to him, moving his hands to her hair, sliding his fingers through them. It was softer than he thought it would be, but thick. Human hair was so ODD. She made a strange thought in her throat and he realized she was purring in her own way. The sound took him aback, but it was...he liked it, and immediately returned it in kind, pressing his face against her cheek as he pulled her flush against him. She was warm and supple in his arms, and he felt his plates shift further. His inhibition was all but gone, and the loud angry voice that had been his pride was nothing more than a nagging whisper in the back of his mind.

Ellen wasn't sure what was bringing this on- she'd figured even inebriated, Saren wouldn't touch a human with a twenty foot pole- but she wasn't going to turn him down when he nuzzled her cheek, his mandibles tickling her jaw. Her arms moved around his shoulders and cowl, reaching up to splay her fingers under his fringe- she'd heard Turians were avian to a degree, and if she remembered anything about birds, they liked having the back of their heads scratched, so maybe he'd like that. Turns out she was right, judging by his reaction. Any resistance he had left melted along with his frame as he relaxed against her, a loud rumble issuing from his throat, and his eyes closed in drunken bliss.

How she knew to stroke under his fringe was beyond him, but he wasn't going to question it when it felt so good- her fingers were soft, and even her nails felt good under his fringe. He set to trying to find a spot on her body that would elicit a similar reaction, raking his fingers up and down her back. His talons dragged over her lower back, and a soft mewl of pleasure came from her as she arched insistently into the touch. His mandibles flared against her jaw, and he dragged his talons a bit harder over the tender skin of her back. The skin at the base of her spine, just above the waist of her pants, was incredibly soft and the fine hairs there were standing on end. Sensitive too, if her cries told him anything. Encouraged, he stroked her lower back with one hand, his other hand searching for other sensitive places to touch.

A soft moan escaped Ellen's lips again and she pulled her head back to look at him. His eyes slowly opened, and without thinking, she pressed her lips against his mouth. He made a sound of confusion, his mouth opening slightly as he did so. The confused growl turned into a shocked purr as her tongue slid into his mouth, seeking out his. His thin rough tongue moved to snake over hers, careful to avoid pushing it into his sharp teeth. She moved one of her hands to the back of his neck with a desperate whimper, pulling him closer. He raked his talons over her lower back harder than he wanted, shocked and overwhelmed by the sensation of this odd act Shepard was doing with her mouth. She groaned into his mouth as his claws raked shallow scratches into her skin, and the reaction made him pause, then scratch her again. She let out another moan, pressing harder against him, and she moved her hand from his neck to his chest, fumbling with the straps of his armor.

Saren sat up with difficulty- and reluctance- to take off his armor. Ellen got up, wobbling, and nearly fell against him, helping him as best she could in her drunken state. The progress was agonizingly slow, but eventually, the pieces of his armor fell to the floor, and Ellen was running her hands over the plates on his chest. Her soft hands skimmed down his chest and down to his belly and tender waist. He hissed as her warm fingers ran over the sides of his waist, and he ripped at her shirt, not caring that he was shredding it. Ellen fumbled with the odd harness on her chest, revealing her breasts. Saren paused, tilting his head, and almost felt his arousal recede at seeing this odd piece of human anatomy. He knew what breasts were for, and knew Asari had them as well, but he didn't find them attractive. They were strange, alien to him, almost enough to make him think twice about this whole thing.

Ellen ignored his hesitation or didn't see it. She removed her pants and the small piece of cloth covering her nethers, tossing them over her shoulder before moving to trail her warm wet mouth down his belly. As her lips left a line of warmth down his stomach, her hands caressing his sides, Saren was able to ignore the oddity of her breasts, his arousal surging back to his loins. She was getting dangerously close to his slit, and she knew it. The nagging voice in his head spoke up, a little louder than a whisper, but as her hot wet tongue dipped over and into his slit, it fell silent, giving way to the groaning rumble that came from his throat. Ellen pulled back, eyes narrowed in a haze of drunken lust as she watched his shaft slide out. She stared at it a moment, obviously taken aback by its alien appearance- blue, with ridges along the top, a thick base and a slightly pointed tip. She took a deep breath and lifted herself back to her knees as she gripped him gently, but firmly in a warm hand. She was trying to focus on keeping him aroused before the alcohol faded, but she was having difficulties, imagining those ridges inside her.

"Is that an assault rifle, or are you pleased with me, Saren?" She crooned, stroking his shaft.

"It's not a rifle, Shepard, but I'm going to assault you with it regardless," he snarled, pushing her onto her back and moving on top of her.

Fingers found their way back under his fringe, and he closed his eyes as he nuzzled her neck, growling in appreciation before nipping at her shoulder. Ellen exhaled sharply, wriggling underneath him as she tried pulling him against her body. Saren ignored her attempts at pulling him down, and hesitantly cupped a breast in his hand, running the pad of his thumb over the pink nub of flesh. She made a sharp cry like an alarmed bird, her back arching. Saren grinned. While he didn't find her breasts attractive, the reaction was a completely different story. He dipped his head, pulling from her touch, and let his tongue snake out to lap at her other nipple. Ellen cried out sharply, moaning his name, and the scent of her arousal grew stronger.

"Saren, damn it...," she whimpered, writhing under his touch.

"Did you want something, Shepard?" He purred as he licked a trail down her belly with his rough tongue.

She gave up trying to clench her hands on his fringe and entwined her fingers into the coverlet instead, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. He chuckled against her hip, then pried her legs apart. She was smooth between her thighs, and as he slid a finger over her slit, she moaned. He closed his eyes, inhaling her scent, the pheromones that came from her. Her anatomy was different from a Turian's, so he experimented, gauging her reactions. He ran the pad of a fingertip over the nub of flesh between the lips of her sex, and she made a keening sound. He rumbled, pleased with the sounds she was making, then, being mindful of his talon, slid a single finger into her. She panted, going still, but her chest heaved, whimpers coming from between clenched teeth. Saren flicked his tongue over the nub of flesh and she shrieked, her body shuddering as she kept herself from bucking. Saren pulled out his finger, and continued lapping at her tender flesh.

"You smell so good," he growled against her, giving her a few more licks before moving back over her. He wanted to shove his cock into her soft wet mouth- it wasn't something Turians did together due to their sharp teeth- but he wanted to fuck her first. He couldn't do that if she was suffering from an allergic reaction- her lips were already slightly swollen from licking his slit. She wrapped her arms around his chest, panting with small growls.

"Fuck me, Saren," she breathed against his cheek.

He needed no further invitation. Moving between her legs, he lifted them so her soft thighs were around his narrow waist- a sensation that made him pause with a growling pant, momentarily dizzy. Recovering, he nudged the tip of his cock to her slit, and with a single motion, pressed his hips flush against hers, sheathing himself inside her. Ellen let out a sharp wail like a wounded bird, clinging to him as he filled her.

_"Oh __**spirits**__,"_ he groaned aloud, moving within her. She was so tight, the walls of her body squeezing his shaft with a wet velvety warmth.

Ellen was eliciting sharp high pitched gasps as Saren thrust into her. She wasn't going to say anything, and she doubt she ever would, but this was her first time. After her rough childhood on Earth, and the events that led to her leaving the Reds, and her enlistment, she still didn't trust or desire men of her own species. She had long lost her hymen due to an active lifestyle, but she'd never been with a male, and Saren was no slouch. He was **huge**, filling her impossibly, and she could feel every ridge, the swelling at the base, the precise ridge at the base of his member's head, all of it rubbing inside her. His plates were rubbing harshly against her chest- especially the protruding plate of his sternum- but the friction was warm and dizzyingly distracting from the chafing. His growls and purrs against her throat were slowly driving her mad as she dug her nails into the softer skin between the plates on his back. It hurt, but it hurt so **good.**

"More, Saren," she keened. "More!"

Saren hissed and bit her neck in response. He wasn't being told what to do regarding how he took his pleasure. She was his for the moment, and he would comply to his need, not her whims. He bit harder than he thought, and a slight smear of red glistened on her throat. He didn't stop moving, but he did look to make sure he hadn't bitten too close to her jugular. It took him a few moments to realize through his drunken stupor that her jugular was on the other side of her neck. With that resolved, he bit her neck again, running his tongue through the bright red blood. The taste of copper and salt filled his mouth and he let out a groan, slowly coming undone. His claws sunk into her back, and he could smell the blood seeping out from under them.

Despite his growling at her that he was in charge and wasn't listening to her pleas, Ellen was getting a great deal of enjoyment from his teeth and claws in her skin. The bites and scratches throbbed with a sharp hot ache, and it made every nerve in her body feel alive. He was tearing her apart, and damn it all to hell, she wanted him to do it harder, more. She scrabbled ineffectively at the plates on his back, trying to gain purchase somewhere between them as he thrust into her. She finally clung to him helplessly, mewling in tortured ecstasy. The plates at his hips were rubbing against her in a way that was driving her mad, and coupled with the sting of his teeth and claws in her flesh, she wasn't much longer for this tryst.

"Saren, I- I'm going to..." she cried as he dragged his tongue along the bite marks on her neck. Saren growled and put more power behind his thrusts, sending jolts through her hips. He rubbed the sides of his face over both sides of her neck and along her shoulders, mandibles clicking as he nuzzled against every inch of skin he could reach with his cheeks and jaws.

"Then come, Shepard," he purred, stopping when his mouth was near her ear. "You've already exposed your throat to me. Succumb to me. Submit, Shepard."

The sheer volume of command in his voice, the growling tone, the simple but damning orders he gave her chilled her to the core, then filled her with a heat that threatened to incinerate her insides. She tightened around him, her stomach impossibly tight. Saren kept his claws in her back, but dragged them down, leaving furrows in her skin, snarling as he did so. He bent low over her, moving his face mere inches from hers, his teeth bared in a feral grin.

"Come, Shepard. I've made you mine, now come. _**Submit to me!**_"

Ellen shuddered as he all but roared his dominance over her, but her climax was still just out of reach- he'd changed his position to a more dominant vantage, and his hips were no longer rubbing against her, and his cock was no longer pushing on that _one damned spot_. He hunched over her possessively and bit on her clavicle, moving his claws to rake new gouges in her sides. She shrieked in a mixture of pleasure and pain, the line between the two blurred by a haze of lust and alcohol. He snarled at her, tongue running over her new wounds, his glowing eyes never moving from her face. She let out the most pathetic and broken sound she'd ever heard herself make, and she did the one thing she never thought she'd do.

She began to beg.

"Saren...please, please! The-the position you were in- I need it!" She pleaded, moving her hands to his sides. Her thighs, still clamped around his waist, were trembling.

Saren tilted his head, a cruel grin spreading over his face, mandibles twitching in nihilistic delight. She was begging him. She wanted to submit, but was admitting she needed him, needed his help to do so. She couldn't even submit without his help. The swell of pride and satisfaction that rose in his chest was delicious, almost enough to make him dizzy. He stilled his movements and pretended to consider this, watching her reaction.

"How did you need me?" He churred, shifting his hips."Like this?"

Ellen wailed. The sudden stilling of his thrusts, followed by a shift in angle, but not to the angle that had been pressing her most tender spot, was agonizing. Saren enjoyed her cries of need, then shifted again, pushing until she let out a cry of discomfort.

"Like that, Shepard? Was that it?" He said silkily, his voice dripping menace and cruel amusement.

Ellen shook her head, and her thighs trembled again. Saren growled as her body- so much wetter and softer than a female Turian's- clamped around him. He noticed the contraction was weaker than before, and he growled in annoyance. He was losing her, and he himself was close to spilling inside her. He wasn't going to let her win. She would come first, broken by him. He shifted back to where he'd been, his pelvic plates pressing against the soft flesh of her mons, his cock angled to hit the spot that had made her cry out like a wounded bird-sounds she was making again.

"Do it, Shepard," he grunted, resuming his pace, curling his claws into her back again as he licked her throat. "Submit. Come. Succumb to me. Tell me you're mine."

Ellen tossed her head, eyes rolling back in their sockets as her stomach tightened impossibly, heat flaring in her hips like an inferno. The tight knot in her loins was stretching and as soon as he licked her throat, his hot breath scented with liquor and blood feathered over her jaw, the knot came undone, and she fell apart with a scream, his name somewhere amongst the wailing cries.

Saren grinned, his mandibles flaring and twitching as she came, listening to her scream his name like a prayer and a curse all at once. It didn't take much more for him- as soon as she reached her peak, clamping tightly around him, the scent of her lust and blood mingling with the burning smell of the alcohol pushing him over the edge. His eyes wrenched shut, his jaws parting and a growling roar coming from his throat as he came, spilling himself inside her. He held her close, letting his body recover, and Ellen shook underneath him, their hearts racing in an erratic untimed rhythm.

After a moment, Saren rolled over, his cock sliding back inside his slit. Ellen was still, laying flat on her back, bleeding and reeking of sex, sweat, blood and pheromones. When he'd rubbed his face over her neck and shoulders, he'd been rubbing his scent all over her skin. He let out a content, sated purr, and shifted to his side, looking her over to survey the marks he'd left on her. She turned her head to look at him, and he flared his mandibles at her, staring her down. He didn't know what made him expect her to understand what he wanted through body language alone. The alcohol, maybe, but his head was throbbing from the aftermath of rutting, too.

Ellen wasn't sure what Saren wanted as he glared at her, but considering how dominant and demanding he'd been earlier, she could guess. A wild thought crossed her mind- Saren's behaviour made her think about pack hierarchy in wolves. Was it wolves? She couldn't remember exactly, but it was worth a shot. She rolled over and scooted closer to him, then making a soft sound, rolled over again, showing him her belly, and tilting her head to expose her bite mark covered throat. He made a soft sound of satisfaction, and she lifted her head, licking the underside of his jaw.

The reaction was unexpected- at least for him. She'd expected a growl, then him getting up, getting dressed and leaving. Instead, he growled-expected- and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and pressing his face into her neck. A low purr issued from his throat, and he refused to let go of her. Not that Ellen was complaining, exactly. It was just the last thing she expected Saren to do. Tentatively, she ran her hands down his pale plates and over the spikes of his elbows. He shuddered, and she moved her hands up to rub under his fringe. He rumbled happily, his mandibles twitching against her neck, and the slackening of his arms told her he was falling asleep. She rolled her eyes, but there was no hostility in the gesture, only amusement. He'd drank, fucked and was now falling asleep, drunk on sex alcohol and pride. Typical male.

She worried about her wounds, and with some finagling, she pulled some medi-gel from her nightstand without disentangling from Saren's arms. She took inventory of her wounds, and the worst ones were on her back. She applied just a bit of the medi-gel to the gouges. Enough to stop the bleeding, but not enough to prevent scarring. The darker part of her wanted to keep these scars- a reminder of a wild night with Saren Arterius. She liked collecting scars anyway, and these would be trophies.

A soft rumble and clacking started coming from his mouth, and Ellen pulled back slightly to see he was definitely asleep. She hesitated, unsure if she should pull away and sleep on the couch, as this was going to be awkward the next morning, but he was warm, and had a tight grip around her waist. With a little difficulty, she rolled over so her back was pressed against his chest, her rump pressing against his hips, near his slit. An open invitation? Yes. The odds of him wanting her again when he sobered up in the morning were slim to none, but she'd risk it.

She could think of worse ways to wake up.


End file.
